I sat down with my books on the floor, to make an attempt to finish the mounting pile of curriculum I needed to get over with. A steady stream of cold air gushed in through the open door infront, which led to the balcony. I looked up. At a distance I could see construction workers in full sway at a new multistoreyed building that was being added to the locality. A new blob of affluency; that had increased recently in my hometown – more buildings, more four wheelers, more branded stores and glittering glassed restaurants. What caught my attention though, were the hills behind it.
I had grown up being in love with the hills that my hometown was blessed with – lush green and reaching out for the sky, but barely managing to kiss it. I had always admired it from the tiny terrace of my house, craning up my neck to look at it and wondering – How tall it is! How would it feel to be on the top of it? How would the world look like from it? I looked forward to the day I could be at that height.
Today though, something was different. I watched the rods jutt out from that building – a harsh piercing in my view. It rose from the under-construction terrace of that building and higher than my hills itself.
The height of my world had changed! The hills didn’t look so tall anymore, so imposing, so out of reach. . . And I wondered, is this the height I wanted to reach or is the height I wanted to get stuck at?
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